


Nothing to Apologize For

by noodlecatposts



Series: ACOTAR Tumblr Requests [10]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Domestic & Oblivious Feysand, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:54:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23122090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noodlecatposts/pseuds/noodlecatposts
Summary: "A hello/good-bye kiss that is given without thinking - where neither person thinks twice about it."
Relationships: Feyre Archeron & Rhysand, Feyre Archeron/Rhysand
Series: ACOTAR Tumblr Requests [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1612852
Comments: 3
Kudos: 122





	Nothing to Apologize For

**Author's Note:**

> I'm cleaning up my masterlist on Tumblr, and I noticed this fic never got posted. Here's some fluff to get you t the weekend. :)

**“Feyre!” Rhys calls into the apartment. “Do you know where my keys are?”**

The woman he’s beckoned appears around the corner, a disgruntled look on her face and glowing mirth in her blue-grey eyes. She crosses her arms with a knowing smile. “You lost them again. Didn’t you?”

“Of course not,” Rhys makes a point to sound extra offended. His violet eyes are filled with umbrage as he says, “I’ve simply misplaced them.”

Feyre rolls her eyes, full of fondness. Rhys is the most organized person she knows. She’s never met a man who kept a more beautiful apartment than Rhys, and his place definitely put her little disaster on the other side of town to shame. 

Yet, Rhys never, ever, knew where his keys were.

She tells him as much, and Rhys snorts, indignant.

“Everyone has a thing that they lose, Feyre darling,” he defends. “My thing just so happens to be my keys. Yours is—well, everything else.”

“Prick!” Feyre’s grinning even as she insults him, and Rhys returns the look effortlessly. She walks up beside him, snatching her own keys off of the counter and jingling them in his face.

“I hate that tin can you call a car,” Rhys says immediately. He can read her mind better than anyone. Feyre laughs. Her best friend takes it very personally, “It’s a death trap—a death trap that I’m way too tall for, I’ll have you know.”

“Rhys,” Feyre whines, but the man persists.

“Not only will I get into an accident and nearly die, but my beautiful legs will be broken forever,” Rhys laments, already grieving his fictional loss. “You don’t want that, darling. You love my legs.”

Feyre snorts. Rhys just smiles at her; he knows she’ll give in and pick up the food if only to get his tangent to end.

“Fine, whatever,” Feyre plays at being inconvenienced, annoyed. Rhys looks entirely too pleased with himself. “I’ll risk my legs just for you, and go pick up the food.”

“But your legs will be fine,” he insists. “You’re so short.”

Feyre, she wants to be angry with him, affronted, but she can’t manage the glare through her amused smile.

“Get the movie ready, Prick,” Feyre orders, standing on her tiptoes and smacking a kiss to Rhys’s lips. “I’ll be right back.”

She’s still smiling when she reaches the street, and it isn’t until she’s standing in line to pick up the food that Feyre realizes just what she’s done.

She kissed Rhys—her best, platonic friend. She kissed him. On the lips. Like a couple. Like Feyre has always wanted to but couldn’t find the nerve.

Her body goes cold with surprise, then hot with embarrassment. She probably looks like a crazy person; she’s so scatter-brained as she pays and takes the food from the clerk. On the way back, Feyre narrowly misses running a stop sign, so lost in her panic.

Rhys is probably freaking out, too, she tells herself. He’s probably afraid to let her down easy and lose his best friend. Hell, Feyre is worried about losing her best friend. Everything is going so well between them. She loved their friendship, but there was a bigger problem: she loved Rhys, too.

Fuck. Feyre smacks her hands against the steering wheel. What was she thinking?

The trip up the stairs to his apartment feels like the walk to the executioner’s block. Feyre can barely breathe. She’s so nervous. She’s scared. Her face is flushed, and she thinks she might pass out from the stress of facing Rhys.

The apartment is quiet when she enters. Feyre finds Rhys perched on the couch, looking like a statue as he watches the title screen to the DVD play on repeat. She doesn’t think Rhys actually sees any of it.

Feyre sets down the food as gently as possible, but the sound of the bag hitting the table brings Rhys to attention. He stands up abruptly, and the swirling emotions in his expression make Feyre’s heart sink. She’s ruined it all.

“Rhys, I’m—“

Her best friend rushes her. A man on a mission. Rhys takes her face in his hands, soft but firm, and holds her close. Feyre gasps at the intimate contact, startled by the turn of events. This isn’t the rejection or shrug off she was expecting. This isn’t a _It happens_ or _Don’t worry about it._

This almost seems like an _I’ve been waiting to do this._

Rhys hesitates, watching her closely to gauge her reaction to their newfound proximity. Feyre’s fallen asleep on his shoulder a thousand times before, but those soft moments don’t compare. Her gaze is locked on his, lost in the intensity she finds there in his violet eyes. Her eyes drop to Rhys’s lips when he licks them, and that one small moment seems to be the sign he was waiting for.

Rhys kisses her soft and sweet. A test. A confirmation.

He pulls away too quickly for Feyre’s liking, and Rhys chuckles when she makes a little noise of protest, holds him close by his shirt. When Feyre opens her eyes again, she’s met with Rhys’s smiling face.

“You have nothing to apologize for, Feyre,” Rhys whispers into her lips. Feyre smiles happily, tugs him down for another kiss.


End file.
